


Hey Good Lookin'

by bethevibeyouseek



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:30:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethevibeyouseek/pseuds/bethevibeyouseek
Summary: Franky is working late, which means that Bridget is left to make their dinner...





	Hey Good Lookin'

“Hey good lookin’, whatcha got cookin’?” Franky hollered from the doorway where she haphazardly deposited the material remains of her day, always in the same order: satchel, boots, blazer. Normally she’d have been home for hours, but an emergency at work had kept her later than normal. Franky would be lying if she said she wasn’t frightened as to what her wife was cooking up in the kitchen for their dinner.  
  
“Hey baby! You said you’d text when you were on your way!” Bridget startled when she heard Franky’s voice. “Dinner’s not ready yet.” Bridget said nervously.  
  
“That’s okay, I can wait.” Franky was nowhere near a grumpy husband coming home from work and demanding a warm plate on the table. She knew that Bridget possessed so many strengths. It just so happened that cooking was not one of them.  
  
“Why don’t you go change and I’ll finish up?” She stood blocking Franky’s least favorite appliance… the microwave.  
  
“Can I help?” Franky offered sensing her unease.  
  
“Nope, all good,” she said just before the microwave beeped obnoxiously behind her.  
  
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Franky cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Aren’t you going to change?” Bridget cocked one back.  
  
“Are you hiding a lover in there or something?” The brunette teased, but was seriously wondering what on earth Bridget could have hidden inside that would be causing her so much anxiety. Painfully slow the petite woman turned and pressed the button to reveal what was hidden inside.  
  
“Gidge...no…” Franky whispered in shock.  
  
“Baby, I didn’t have much notice and my session ran late. I picked them up on the way home and-” She attempted to explain.  
  
“Frozen fuckin’ pot pies? And you microwaved them?” Even saying it aloud it still sounded like fiction. Franky Doyle made one thing perfectly clear when she moved into their home. There were no frozen meals.  
  
“Trust me, they’re good!” Bridget tried once more as she retrieved the little pie from the appliance and placed it onto their kitchen table. Franky didn’t budge from her spot.  
  
“I somehow feel like your definition of good and mine are real different,” Franky crossed her arms over her chest, still unmoving.  
  
“Please, I saw you eat cold pizza over the sink for breakfast yesterday.” Bridget was quick to remind her whiney wife.  
  
“That’s different.”  
  
“Trust me, if you don’t like it I will make it up to you,” Bridget finally relented. She sat down, not caring if Franky decided to join her. She placed her napkin over her lap.  
  
“How so?” The brunette’s interests were peaked.  
  
“I’ll do laundry,” she offered.  
  
“You never do laundry,” Franky gasped taking a small step closer.  
  
“And I’ll iron,” she added as she brought a piece of the dish to her lips, making sure to blow on it to cool. A lifetime of experience with frozen meals had taught her the pain of a burnt tongue.  
  
Franky slowly came to sit beside her and snatched her fork into her hand. She stared down distastefully at the pot pie in front of her, but knowing a good deal when she heard, it she decided to give it a try. She snagged a tiny piece of the meal and brought it to her lips. After a deep breath she ate the small bite. The two sat in complete silence as she contemplated. Bridget swore she could hear the blades of grass blowing in the wind that’s how quiet the home was. Then, Franky continued to eat silently until all that remained was the carton the pie came in.  
  
“Well?” Bridget asked, taking care to hide the smile threatening to spread across her lips. Franky shrugged and wiped her mouth on her napkin.  
  
“It’s not that bad,” she admitted.  
  
“So...would you say that you were…” wrong, Bridget finished in her brain.  
  
“I was… not right about them.” Franky wasn’t willing to admit total defeat, not with her pride at stake.  
  
“So I was…” Bridget prompted once more.  
  
“You were right, Jesus woman,” Franky groaned with a smile. Bridget thrust her fist in the air, celebrating her victory. Franky stood and disposed of the empty cartons into the bin. Before tossing the rest of the box, Franky flipped it over and began inspecting it closely.  
  
“What are you looking at?”  
  
“I want to know how the fuck they got the crust to stay flaky.”  
  
“I know, right?!”  
  
“Marie Callender, you tricky bitch.”


End file.
